Everyday for her is a struggle, a war.
No one seems to realize how mean it all really is.
"They're just playing around, honey."
But she knows they aren't, they just aren't thinking.
She is the target for jokes, but if she vanished, you wouldn't really notice.
When she finally gets home, she shuts herself in her room and pours her heart out.
In music, she can express herself, carve out her feeling into songs.
Or she might grab a pen and find some paper and write out a poem.
Sometimes, she might engross herself into a book and enjoy living someone else's life.
She wonders, if she really did leave, who would notice?
It wasn't like she ever contributed to school clubs or participated in any events.
The Sun rises and the Sun sets, beginning and ending more nightmares.
She knows if she wanted to, she could endure the few years left to freedom.
She knows, she does, but she doesn't really like the idea of more unnoticed torture.
And she decides she doesn't want to take it.
So she packed her memories wroth keeping in the dead of night and walked to the edge of the world.
No witnesses were around, no one saw.
And she stepped off.